Maia stuck to a plastic chair in the police station. It was one of the chairs they had in high schools in the 1970s, avocado-green and covered in anonymous scratches. If anyone ever wondered where all those chairs went, she’d point them in the right direction.

April occupied the seat next to her. Her head leaned against the wall behind them, and her mouth was slightly open as she slept. That was not a comfortable position for her neck, and she was going to regret falling asleep at all when she woke up, but Maia didn’t have the heart to wake her. They’d been in the same chairs for several hours after giving their statements, waiting to point out her attacker in a lineup.

Aaron had texted April nonstop for five minutes before Maia was sick of it. She’d taken April’s phone and typed, Maia’s fine. She will call you when she’s finished with the police. Then, she’d turned April’s phone off and offered her friend a smile. “You’re officially off duty.”

April’s whole frame sank with relief.

The officer in charge, Walsh, was putting together a lineup for Maia to eyeball her attacker when a shooter was brought in, high as a kite. He kicked and screamed and threw himself against the furniture and pulled Walsh off the “Icy Case,” as April had labeled it.

They were assured Walsh would be out any minute to pick up where he left off.

She probably wouldn’t be able to rise out of the chair when he did arrive. This whole situation was ridiculous and baffling.

“Maia!” barked an older officer with hair so white it looked like a dusting of freshly fallen snow.

She lifted her arm. “Here.”

He motioned for her to follow. Maia licked her lips. “This will be interesting.” She put her palms on the sides of the seat and pushed up. Her bottom lifted quickly, but her thighs and the fabric painted on them, peeled slowly off the chair. She turned around to find a perfect outline of her backside in red and blue crusted sugar. “Sorry about your chair.” She hobbled to the open door, her injured leg more sore than the rest of her. The fall into the back of the limo didn’t do her tight muscles any favors.

The snowy officer paused. “You okay, miss?”

She gritted out a smile. “As good as can be expected.”

“Can I call someone for you?”

Maia shook her head, feeling crunchy sections of her hair scrape across her back. Ew. “Thank you, I’ll be fine.”

He nodded and continued down the hall, going slower than before. At a nondescript brown door, he paused. “You’ll be able to see them, but they won’t be able to see you.” His voice was paternal in nature. “He may react to thinking you’re in here, though, and could become agitated.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not scared.”

“That’s right.” He swept open the door, and Maia entered the darkened room. The officer pushed a button on the wall and a buzzer sounded. Maia stepped closer to the window and watched the men file in. She searched their faces, looking for something familiar. The attack happened so quickly she didn’t have time to get a look at the man. “I’m sorry. I don’t …” She stopped. “Can you, can you have them each say something? Maybe I can remember his voice.”

“We don’t usually do that.”

“I know, but voices and music are my thing. I’m more likely to remember a voice than a face. And he seemed familiar when he yelled at me.” She shuddered to think she’d known anyone who would act insane.

The officer picked up a phone on the wall and gave instructions to the men standing against the white wall with black lines indicating height.

The first man stepped forward and said, “You’re not good enough for him.” He stepped back in his place, an uninterested expression on his pale face.

Maia shook her head.

The second man stepped forward. He was tall but not large and wore several layers of clothing. His whole being was wrinkled and stained as if he’d slept outside in them for several nights. He glared at the window.

“Go ahead,” the officer said into the phone.

He continued to glare. Maia searched his face. Her eyes carved over his square, whisker-covered jaw, and the lines framing his mouth. She finally stared into his eyes and gasped. Molasses black. Like London’s. Her stomach turned to acid and ran into her legs, making them turn to jelly. She stumbled back, raising her hands over her face. “No.” Reed’s cruel stare came at her full force, backed by all the horrible things he’d said to her face and as she walked away from the few times she’d run into him at the stadium.

As if he could feel her recognition, he charged the window and slammed both hands flat against the glass. Officers barreled in, ready to restrain him. “You’re not good enough for him!” he screamed.

Of all the whispers, the name-calling, the people who looked down their nose at her, Reed was the worst. She hated him above all others because he didn’t have the small shred of decency it took to talk behind her back; he said all the things she never wanted to hear right to her face. Maia had thought he was trying to intimidate her into breaking things off with London, but London was the best thing that happened to her up to that point in her life—and maybe up to this one too. She still wasn’t sure about things between them.

Staring at Reed as he foamed at the mouth in anger, a new light fell on high school London. Like a spotlight on a stage, she saw their whole relationship through different eyes—saw him through different eyes. Her hand pressed against her forehead, the force of the new information shooting like electricity through her memories. Growing up under this man’s thumb was—unthinkable.

She moved her hand to her throat as her mind opened up to look at the past again. “That’s him,” she rasped out. “I’d know his voice anywhere.”

“Yeah—he’s pretty agitated thinking you are in here.” He picked up the phone again. “Take ’em out.”

Maia gathered herself and got to her feet. “Sorry about the chair.”

The officer waved off her concern. “Don’t be. It’s seen worse.”

Maia wrinkled her nose. “Great.” She brushed off her backside and then wrinkled her nose at her hand, wondering if she’d ever get to wash again.

The officer lifted a shoulder and showed her back out to the waiting room. April was awake, chewing her fingernail. Maia wanted to scream at her to keep her fingers away from her mouth. This place was worse than a hospital when it came to germs.

She was still shocked Reed had attacked her—in such a weird way. The man was clearly missing a few tacos in his food truck. Lights of understanding began to flip on. Karen divorced Reed because he was violent, and London was reluctant to discuss his relationship with his dad. He should have told her, though—especially if he knew this was a possibility.

He had mentioned she should get a security guard, but he’d never explained why. Well, he was going to do a lot of explaining as soon as she washed the sugar out of her hair.

“You are free to go. We’ll call you if we need you to come back in.”

The hours of waiting pulled on Maia’s eyelids. All she wanted was a shower and a bed. She’d take a warm bath she could fall asleep in if it would speed up the process. April turned her phone back on, and it began to ding over and over again like a possessed slot machine.

“Throw it in the bushes. I’ll buy you a new one,” Maia offered.

April smiled sadly. “If only it were that simple.” They continued through the maze of hallways following the signs that promised an exit. Finally, they managed to thrust open the double doors and enter the dark before sunrise.

“Maia!”

Maia turned toward the call. Her mouth fell open. “London?”

He rushed her, which was kind of his job on the field, but she’d never been lifted off the ground with such power and tenderness all at once. He cocooned her in his arms and held her tight to his chest.

Maia couldn’t relax into his embrace. He had withheld information that put her in harm’s way. Sure, it was just a few slushies, but it could have been worse. He set her down and ran his hands over almost every inch of her. “Are you okay? I can’t tell you how worried I’ve been.” His hands traced her cheekbones, light as a kiss, and then down her neck as he inspected her.

“I’m fine, too,” called April.

London smiled over Maia’s head. “Thank you, April. Your quick action was amazing. I’m going to use your video for training purposes.”

April blushed. “I’m going to call an Uber and go back to the hotel. You good?” she asked Maia.

Maia took a deep breath, knowing her shower was postponed. “I’ll be fine.” London may have withheld information, but he would always be her protector.

“There’s a diner on the corner. Do you want something warm to drink?” London offered. His eyes, a copy of his father’s, were rimmed with worry, and there were dark circles under his lower lashes.

Maia glanced down at her dress. The night was shot. Her dress was ruined. And her hair wasn’t going to move—at all. “Why not?”

They made their way down the street. Maia’s heel caught in a crack on the sidewalk and she stumbled forward. London caught her, saving her from face-planting on the concrete. He righted her faster than she fell and offered his arm.

She eyed him warily. “I don’t know if we should.” Her body was on London’s side of things. She didn’t want to give her heart a chance to influence her decision.

His face looked pained. “Falling is better than holding on to me? Maia, come on.”

“Fine—but I’m mad at you.” She put her hand in the crook of his arm.

“I’m mad at me,” he replied.

“Don’t get cute with me, London.” His dad’s contorted face as he screamed at Maia through the glass, came back to her. “You’ve been hiding from me for years.”

London pulled the diner door open. The floor was a checkerboard of black and white tiles, the seats navy blue, and the chrome accents cloudy with age. But the smell of hot coffee was strong. She sucked it in.

“You want a cup?” London asked.

She shook her head. “I had to give it up a couple years ago—it raises my stress hormones.” She sighed. Never had she been so tempted to cheat on her hormones. “I’ll take an herbal tea.”

He strolled to the counter to place their order while she found a booth. The seat sank like she weighed five hundred pounds, and she allowed her body to melt into it as she laid her head back and groaned.

London set a cup down in front of her. She wrapped her hands around it, letting the steam wash over her face. “Thanks.”

He took the seat across from her, sinking even lower than she had. His startled look made her laugh, which lightened the mood she’d carried out of the police station like a heavy bag over her shoulder.

“London.” She sighed. “Your dad threw food at me.”

His lips twitched.

“What is wrong with him?” She took a sip, letting the hot liquid clean her throat of a night of breathing human stenches and clothing soaked in cigarette smoke.

London wagged his head side to side. “What’s right with him? The list is shorter.”

Maia took another sip, letting the silence work on him. And it was working. His mind was going a mile a minute, flashes of pain and confusion spinning in his eyes like a disco ball.

He studied his clasped hands. “Heaven help me, Maia. I don’t talk about this—ever.” His full lower lip trembled. Her eyes jumped to his, expecting tears, but there weren’t any. Instead, there was a haunting. She shivered at the sight. She almost told him not to tell her; the horrors there were truly terrifying.

He took a shaky breath. “I can’t recount it all from the beginning; there’s too much.”

Maia set her cup down and placed her hands over his, noting how cold they were.

“The morning of prom, my dad came unglued. He—” London blew a breath out through his teeth. “He didn’t want me going with you—thought it reflected badly on him.”

His words weren’t a surprise, but they acted like an iron, searing them into the tender areas of her heart.

“I refused to break the date. Mom stood up for me and he just let loose.”

“What does that mean?”

“He beat her. She told me to stay back, to not get in his way. She was going to take it for me.” He shuddered. “And I was going to let her because I wanted to take you to prom so badly.”

Maia brushed her thumb over his white knuckles.

“You probably think I was a coward, but that’s how it worked in our house. Sometimes I took it for Mom and sometimes she took it for me. As I got older, I took more of them because I was bigger and stronger and she had a harder time recovering than I did.

“We’ve been through counseling, her and I, together. We thanked one another for each sacrifice and asked forgiveness from each other. It was weird at the time, but it freed us—allowed us to put all that outside of our relationship. We’re good now.”

“Oh, London,” Maia whispered. She tried to put her fingers between his palms, but they were pressed so tightly she couldn’t find space, and she settled for stroking his hands.

“Dad aimed for the body—no visible bruises. We were supposed to be the perfect family, right?” London sniffed. “He hit Mom in the side and she cried out like never before. I don’t know how to explain that I knew that sound was different from the thousands of other painful noises I’d heard her make, but I did. I shoved him away from her, and he turned on me in a mad fury. I covered Mom and let him exhaust himself on me.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “He broke two of my ribs.”

Maia gasped. She closed her eyes, remembering back to prom—he didn’t want to dance, he couldn’t lift his arm around her shoulders for pictures, he didn’t want her at his house because of his dad. “London, I’m so sorry I left you there.” Tears of shame burned trails down her cheeks. She let them fall, not bothering to wipe them away. “I’m so, so sorry.”

His hands suddenly had a hold of hers. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have trusted you with my secret. I should have come after you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because breaking up with you made my dad happy. I was so scared for my mom. I found her that night, crumpled in the hallway and bleeding internally. I barely got her to the hospital in time—she almost died. I felt like losing you was penance for having left her at all that night. My broken heart was just another beating I took for her.”

“Your mom wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“No, but my dad ruled the house—what we wanted didn’t matter.”

“London.” She poured her aching for him into his name.

“He’s insane. The cop in Texas said he’d end up in an institution.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

“No. He needs to be punished for what he did.” His hands gripped her fingers tightly.

Maia leaned back. She narrowed her eyes. “If you want revenge, I’ll help you get it.”

Her hands flooded with blood as London released them quickly. He scuttled out of the bench and paced in front of their table. “I don’t like the word revenge. It’s an ugly word for your beautiful lips.”

Maia gave him a sad little smile. “London, if I had known …”

“What? What would you have done, Maia? Tell a teacher?” he snapped. “Trust me, I played all the scenarios out in my head. If I believed, even for a second, that it would have stopped him, I would have done it. I researched what happens—they take the kid away, not the parent. My mom would have been alone with him. And … I hate that I even thought this way, but football was my golden ticket. Changing schools would have taken that away.”

“You were talented enough to play anywhere.”

“College coaches don’t recruit guys who aren’t on the field, and there’s a lot of politics in high school sports. I had to stick it out.” He sat back down. “I’ve thought this over a hundred times in the past ten years, Maia. The one regret I have isn’t the broken ribs, the bruises, or the constant fear. My regret was letting you walk away that night. I wish I’d been braver.”

Maia hiccupped a sob. She reached for a napkin in the dispenser on the table.

“I know you’ve had your doubts about us. I don’t blame you. I mean, I come with this basket of crazy.”

“It’s not your crazy to carry around.” She laugh-hiccupped. “If anyone understands that you can’t pick your parents, it’s me.”

He put both hands on the edge of the table. “Maia, tell me the truth. Is there any hope for us?”

The tears came fast now, rivers of relief and sorrow and hope. “I think there is.”

He was on his feet in a flash, pulling her out of the booth and to his chest. “Do you mean it? Don’t play with me, princess.”

She poked his chest. “Don’t call me princess.”

“How about honey? Can I call you honey?” His voice was low and inviting and his lips close to her ear.

She shivered from the nearness. “Yes,” she breathed.

He kissed her lightly, which wasn’t nearly enough. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him close, not able to get enough of him. Several moments later, they broke apart, gasping for breath.

“If this is your version of taking it slow, I’m all for it.”

Maia tipped her head back and laughed deeply, relieved that they’d waded through croc-infested waters and come out the other side stronger, better, and deeper in love. She placed her hands on the sides of his face. “I love you, London Wilder. You’re the beginning and the end of my heart.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you, Maia. I need you, but more importantly, I want you in my life—every day, every hour. I swear to never be my father.”

She gazed into his molasses eyes. Where she’d seen unhinged thoughts and uncontrolled fury in Reed’s eyes, all she saw in London’s was pure love. “I know. London, I know.”

He traced his fingers down her cheek. “Did you know you taste like cherry?”

She lifted her arms off of his. “Ew. Gross, I am so sticky.” She pulled, but his hands went to her hips and he brought their bodies flush.

“I don’t care.” He brushed his thumb over her top lip. “You’re perfect, honey.”

He kissed her, earning a whistle from the waitress behind the counter. Maia lost herself in his embrace. She was covered in a sugary, sticky, crusty mess; her dress was a disaster; and her hair was crunchy; and she felt like a real princess when London whispered her name and kissed her slow.